


You and I Got Lost in It

by Jodygoroar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Riverdale (TV 2017), Shadowhunters (TV), The 100 (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: AU, Angst, Anything goes - Freeform, Black and White to Color, Canon Compliant, Drabbles, Established Relationship, F/M, Feels, First Words Soulmate AU, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Mild Sexual Content, Modern AU, Multi, Requests, Roommates, Sexual Tension, Shorts, Silly antics, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unplanned Pregnancy, clarke can't cook, detective!bughead, full dark no stars betty, heat wave, house mates, jace crashes at magnus's, one shots, otp, secret santa present, the 100 03x16, unless specified
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:52:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 10,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jodygoroar/pseuds/Jodygoroar
Summary: Here you will find all the short, one shot, drabbles and requests that don't fit elsewhere or are too short for their own post. Have a request? Send me an ask on tumblr. [clorkegriffin.tumblr.com/ask ]Work title from Taylor Swift's song Wonderland, because I get so lost in all my fandoms and ships. Also T Swifties is my jam.The first chapter is a Chapter Index.





	1. Chapter Index

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my_inked_asterism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_inked_asterism/gifts), [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts), [Gellsbells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gellsbells/gifts), [Phoebe_Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoebe_Snow/gifts), [MorrigansPriestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorrigansPriestess/gifts).



Chapter Index:  
***Chapters are rated E+ | **Chapters are rated M+ | *Chapters are rated T+  
Chapter One: Everything – Stydia  
Chapter Two: A Splash of Color – Finn Collins x Clarke Griffin  
Chapter Three: I Found You – Bughead  
*Chapter Four: Six Days - Romanorogers  
*Chapter Five: Sunday Morning Surprise - Bughead  
*Chapter Six: The Smell of Coming Home - Bellarke  
**Chapter Seven: Let's Count the Stars - Stydia  
Chapter Eight: Hey There Juliet - Bughead  
Chapter Nine: A Little Reassurance - Bughead  
Chapter Ten: Bribery - Bughead  
Chapter Eleven: Anton – Bughead  
*Chapter Twelve: Black Like Ink - Bughead  
**Chapter Thirteen: Adagio - Romanorogers  
Chapter Fourteen: House Guests - Magnus x Jace  
Chapter Fifteen: In the Aftermath - Bellarke  
Chapter Sixteen: Sparring Match - Linctavia  
Chapter Seventeen: Kitchen Disaster - Linctavia  



	2. Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 500 Followers giveaway third place winner: @lydias-martin on tumblr.  
> Requested Beronica or Stydia, and I have so many feels over this moment, finally. I hope you enjoy it!

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Lydia had found him and brought him back. He’d been in love with her from the beginning, since before Scott was a werewolf, since before any of this, and he was amazed to find her here with him after everything that had happened.

That moment he saw her again, that look in her eyes, “I didn’t say it back.”

Every memory, every moment, every second crashed down around him, his heart pounding, he strode to her in an instant.

“You didn’t have to,” and she was in his arms, like she had been so many times before, and yet it was like nothing he had ever felt in his life. She was soft, and supple, and real, and here in his arms, and she remembered him. That one moment was everything all in one second and the world fell away.

“Ready?” she asked him brightly, drawing him back into the present.

Lydia stood in Stiles’ doorway, his duffle bag held in her hands, basked in the sunlight from his window. Her eyes shone, her hair gleamed in the light, and it was all worth it, just to end up here, with her, at the end.

Stiles held out a hand to her, she placed his bag on the floor and took it, stepping into his open arms. He pulled her in, folding her in his embrace and kissed the top of her head.

“Yea,” he told her, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes, and simply because he could, leaned down and kissed her. “Let’s go,” he said, leading her out of his empty room and towards everything in front of them.


	3. I Found You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 500 Followers giveaway first place winner: @riverdale-ships on tumblr.  
> Requested Bughead soulmate au. This was so much fun to write, I hope you love it!  
> Congratulations!

Another bleary, grey day, not that he ever expected that to change. Every once in a while, though, Jughead woke up in the morning, and for just a moment before opening his eyes, wondered if the colors would show themselves.

He’d heard about them before, the colors that show up, illuminating your entire world. Archie had thought he’d seen a few colors at the corner of his eye over the summer. He still didn’t know what that had been about, or whom. But today was no different, his world a muddle of monotone and shadows.

Sighing despite himself, Jughead got dressed for the day and headed downstairs for breakfast. He knew better than to expect anything out of the ordinary in the kitchen. The sink was overflowing, as was the ash tray on the table. His dad had left the cereal and milk on the counter. Bypassing the unappetizing sugar flakes Jughead grabbed a banana and headed out the door as quickly as possible.

He headed down the street and towards Archie’s house. It was Saturday but they were headed to the Riverdale Public Library to study. Archie had a biology test that week and Jughead was working on his murder mystery. He had vowed to himself to have a rough draft completed by the end of the school year and the days were ticking away faster than he knew.

They slunk into a table in the back corner of the reference section, a few other Riverdale High students among them. The Blossom Twins were rapid-firing flash cards at one another, Josie, Val, and Melody were humming and drumming their pencils, earning them an aggravated ”hush!” from the elderly librarian, Mrs. Grundy. The full tables were unsurprising; midterm exams were right around the corner after all.

Archie waved at a pretty, dark-haired girl in pearls Jughead had seen in the halls, then climbed into his biology text book. Jughead smiled ruefully and shook his head slightly at the auburn waves that were all he could see of his friend. Setting up his laptop and notes before him, Jughead set his fingers to the keys and stared in bewilderment.

Something had happened to the keyboard. It looked… different. He wasn’t sure, but something had happened. He twisted his neck, looking swiftly around the stacks. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, everything in its place. Chalking it up to too much caffeine this morning, he mentally smacked himself and began typing.  
Not a full thirty seconds later it happened again, and this time it was stronger. Looking up, Jughead’s eyes followed the strange quality that was slowly seeping across the library carpet towards him. It shivered back and forth, waving like sunlight in shallow waves across the floor, beckoning him. Jughead stood from his seat, and followed the vibrating essence down a row of books. The smell of old pages surrounded him and his mind threw out a word that had always been useless to him. A word he had never expected to use in any sincere sense, but there it was.

_Colors_.

It grew more solid, wiping away the ashy hue of his world, filling his vision with bright and vivid life. It seemed to pulse like a heartbeat and as he walked down the aisle it drummed faster. Then he could see it, just beyond the end of the stack, a soft sweater on a shoulder rounded over the pages of a book, _blue_ ; it came to him instinctively. A ponytail that bounced with a life of its own. His mind threw another word at him, _yellow, blond_.

Stepping around the corner, Jughead couldn’t help the quick breath that surged into his empty lungs. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, her cheeks kissed softly in color, _pink_ , her toes encased in smooth ballet flats, _purple_ , and that sweater, it wasn’t just blue. Suddenly he understood, it was the color of the sky and the sea. It was the color of his favorite t-shirt, soft and worn around all the edges, and it was the color of her eyes when she looked up at him.  
Those blue irises of hers narrowed, her eyes blew wide as she looked at him, her pink lips open in a slight gasp. Her gaze rove across his face, searching and finding everything she was looking for.

“Hi,” he whispered, barely able to make his lungs squeeze out the sound.

“Hi,” she breathed in return, her mind reeling, spinning a million miles a second, words being thrown at her as she gazed at this face before her. Sparkling eyes somewhere beyond grey, _green_ , the curling dark waves of his hair, _charcoal_ , the freckles across his jaw, _brown_ , the exciting hue of his shirt, _red!_ her mind cried.

Betty could hardly breath. Her grandmother had told her about this; how it had happened to her. The moment she had met her grandfather, the moment the colors came. Betty had listened to the story dozens of times when she was a little girl, imagining as best she could from her monochromatic world what a color was. Nothing she had ever dared to dream compared to the sudden uncontrollable lightness of the world. Everything was bright and vibrant. She glanced around at lightspeed to find more colors surrounded them, but her hungry eyes sought out his face once more.

“What’s your name?” he asked, a smile kissing the corner of his lips.

“Betty Cooper,” she told him, and the look on his face was as if she had given him the most precious secret in the universe. She smiled, the light and color seeping into her heart. “What’s yours?” she asked him.

“Jughead Jones the Third,” he made a flourish with his hand and bowed slightly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I’ve been looking for you,” he told her, touching her face gently with his fingertips.

“I know,” she replied and leaned in, pressing her lips to his, sealing their fates, the colors spreading through every memory they had, filling every dark corner of their lives, and changing them forever.


	4. A Splash of Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 100 01x04 Murphy's Law, Clarke x Finn. Finn finds a jar of colored pencils and debates on which he should bring to Clarke.

Finn found the fall out shelter on one of his many walks from camp. He was hoping for something useful, food, tools, or maybe weapons. He hadn’t expected to find the remnants of a family that had never even made it to the shelter. Photographs, clothing, toys. There was food but it was all bad by now.

Finn searched aimlessly through the items in the bunker until he stumbled upon some paint brushes and immediately he thought of her. Clarke’s smiling face came to mind and suddenly he needed to find a treasure to bring back to her. He looked further on and found a true prize, a jar filled with colored pencils. He seized the jar with eager hands, but stopped short. A full jar was suspicious, she’d demand to know where it had come from and ruin the surprise of the bunker itself.

“Just one,” he whispered into the darkness, but which one?

Finn set the jar on the table and sat, shining his light onto the pencils.

Green? No, there’s enough green around them every day. Yellow? Like her hair? Too pretentious. His fingers touched the colored tips, debating.

Finally, he found one tucked under the lip of the jar, a little shorter than the rest, obviously used more. It was beautiful; the color of the sky in the early morning hours as only could be seen from the ground. It was a color that was new to him, since they landed, It was a color that, for some reason, reminded Finn of Clarke.

Finn carefully replaced the jar on the back of the shelf to be presented to her later on. He took his lamp and quickly left the bunker, eager as a boy to deliver the precious gift to her.


	5. Six Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romanorogers “Do you think it’s possible that I…might be… pregnant? ” prompted by @dresupi

Six days.

“Shit.”

She looked at the calendar again, counting the days. Six. It was definitely six days.

“Shit. Fuck,” she cursed under her breath. No need to freak him out until more evidence came through. Data, she needed information.

“Shit!” she whisper-yelled as she stubbed her toe leaving the office.

Why now? Things had been going so well, they were happy, fully in their living-together-while-also-saving-the-world thing, and it was perfect. Not to mention the earth-shattering sex, god, that man knew his way around her body. The last thing she wanted was to mess everything up by forcing this on him too soon.

Steve was amazing with kids, she’d seen it first-hand. Whenever they were out in public, and actually _in_ public, kids came running up to him. Captain America was every little boy’s hero and he was so patient and caring and honest with them. It was part of why she fell in love with him. It was part of why she suggested they move in together and leave the drama of the Avenger’s Tower behind.

She just wanted a little peace alone with him in their off time, and now her alone time with him might be coming to an abrupt and permanent halt.

All the way back down the hall she argued with herself, how was she gonna tell him? What was he gonna say?

“Shit!”

Every last one of her nerves was strung as tight as a Barton’s bow, trepidation gripping her heart. It was no use even trying to act natural when she came into the living room where Steve was flipping through the newspaper. He knew her too well, every single one of her tells and tricks.

He eyed her over the top of the page and quirked a brow at her, “Natasha?”

She murmured one last, “shit,” under her breath and crawled into his lap like a child.

“Nat, what’s wrong?” he asked, laying his paper aside and encircling her inside the comfort of his arms.

She sighed heavily, rather dramatically really and peeked up at him from under her eyelashes. “I’m six days late,” she confessed.

If she hadn’t been so anxious she would have laughed at his reaction. First his face went blank, vacant even, then a mixture of concentration and puzzlement filled his strong features. Finally, it dawned on him her meaning, and he took a deep breath.

Natasha sat perched on Steve’s lap, her heart seized inside her chest waiting for his response.

“Do you think it’s possible that you… might be… pregnant?” he asked, slowly, chewing on every word before releasing it.

The nerves got the best of her at that and she burst into laughter, tears springing to the corners of her eyes. “Your grip of the human reproductive system astounds me, Rogers,” she smiled at him questioningly, still unsure.

Steve stared intently into her eyes, and slowly a childish light sparked and spread across his face.

“How the hell are we going to decide who to name it after?” he wondered, pulling her face down to his.


	6. Sunday Morning Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bughead "Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”and “Are you drunk?” [pretty please with a cheryl on top (see what I did there ;)] requested by anonymous

He’d been scouring the edge of Sweet Water River since midnight, not the smartest plan, for sure. Sometime around dawn, he headed back towards town, intending to take his findings, or lack thereof, straight to Betty for her opinion.

He slunk up beside the Cooper’s house as quietly as possible and climbed the trellis under her window. Jughead tapped gently on the window pane. After a moment, he realized it was Sunday and he glanced down at the driveway; Mr. Cooper’s car was gone.

“Sunday Brunch,” he muttered under his breath, picturing the exact look of polite boredom filling the soft features of his Betty.

Jughead slid the window open silently and climbed into her room. He was instantly surrounded by the smell of her. Strawberries, kiwis, and something that was distinctly her, filled his senses and helped to ease his tired nerves.

He sat on the bench seat by her window and tugged off his boots, refusing to drag mud from the banks of Sweet Water River across her soft pink carpet.

It was a strange sensation; being in her room, her personal space, without her; alone. Others may have taken this chance to snoop around and see what he found, but not Jughead. He respected her privacy far too much to do such a thing. Instead he entertained himself looked around at the things she had on display. He’d been in her room before, but it was usually for a short time, and other concerns took precedence.

Every perfectly chosen piece in the room, they each told him of her, singing songs of the things she loved, the people who were important in her life. He stepped in front of her mirror, looking over the photos taped to its surface, her and Archie as kids, with Veronica in their River Vixens uniforms, one of her and Polly that must have been the last picture they had together, there were even two of him, one from when they were kids, and one from a few days ago. Betty must have just added that one, and it struck a chord deep in his heart.

Jughead lightly, lovingly, touched the items on her vanity, the hair brush that smelled of her shampoo, a pair of earrings she’d left out, the satin ribbon of her diary. The smallest of smiles touched his mouth, turning up the corners.

He sighed and tugged off his jacket and grey thermal shirt, tossing them over the back of her desk chair. He sat on the edge of her mattress and lay back, content to sit in the essence of her while he waited the, he checked his watch, three hours, at least, that remained of their usual Sunday excursion.

Betty knew the exact moment her father parked in the driveway that Jughead had been in her room. He’d left her copy of Romeo and Juliet leaning against the window, it was his signal too her, any time he’d visit and she wasn’t home he’d move the book to a new spot.

Betty did her best to smother the instant smile that lit her entire face. She walked inside, slowly, painfully slowly, with her parents and made an excuse of a little homework she needed to finish.

Practically sprinting up the stairs, Betty let her smile free, beaming at the framed family pictures on the wall. She took a deep breath before walking into her room. She didn’t see him at first, sleeping soundly, his face pressed against her pillow.

She gasped softly, when she spotted him, her fingers playing in the ends of her loose blond waves. Taking a moment to just look at him, she closed the door behind her and stepped closer to him. Somehow, she found it endearing that he had climbed completely under her blankets, tugging them up under his nose. All she could see of him was his askew beanie and the soft waves of charcoal hair coming out from beneath it.

Kneeling beside him, her heart filled with love in that moment and she couldn’t help but press her fingers gently against every one of his freckles; the stars that kissed his face. He stirred, groaning quietly.

Betty pressed her lips to one along his chin and whispered into his ear, “Good morning.”

In his not-yet-awake state he smiled contentedly. Jughead pushed the covers down to his waist, and stretched his arms up over his head.

Betty gasped softly. He was naked. In her bed.

He continued to stretch, pulling himself out of deep sleep, every muscle along his arms rippling with the movement, his abdominals tightening. It drove her a little insane, the sight of it all. Jughead, like Archie, had gotten hot this past summer, puberty and investigative journalism suited him.

Betty licked her dry lips, her fingers involuntarily moving to touch the hard span of skin exposed just above her pink bedspread.

“Mmm,” he hummed when she pressed her palm against his skin, warm from the cocoon of sleep.

“Jughead?” she leaned in, her breath fanning gently across his face.

“Mmm,” he hummed again, basking in the joy of being awoken from a deep, restful, sleep by Betty Cooper.

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” she asked him, with absolutely no complaint.

At that his eyes flew open, shock throwing him awake. Jughead blushed, really blushed, and yanked the blankets up over his bare chest. Betty laughed heartily at him, her eyes twinkling in the afternoon sunlight streaming in her window.

“Hi,” he said, dropping the blanket below his chin. He smiled sheepishly at her, then yanked the blanket completely off the bed.

Betty gasped and deliberated with herself at the speed of light; to look or not to look? She let her short-haired brunette counterpart decide for her and kept her eyes on him as the blanket floated to the ground. There he lay in her bed, naked… from the waist up.

Betty laughed seeing that he still wore his jeans and even his socks, his suspenders snaking out around his waist. He crossed his arms over his chest, every muscle tightening in the movement, and her breath caught in her lungs.

“Betty Cooper, did you really think I would be completely naked in your bed?” he asked her, that teasing smile spreading across his face, laughter in his eyes. “Are you drunk? Too many mimosas at brunch with the Lord and Lady Cooper, maybe?” he teased her.

She shrugged at him coyly, cocking a single blond brow at him, “Wishful thinking, perhaps.”


	7. The Smell of Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellarke - “I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.” Modern au [Clarke can't cook. Bellarke, please :)] requested by anonymous

Before he even got the key in the lock he could smell it; the unmistakable aroma of her cooking, that special smell that told him exactly what he’d find in the kitchen of their tiny apartment. Clarke would be pacing back and forth between the counter, fridge, and stove, her hair pulled back, the little wisps around her face springing everywhere. She’d be barefoot, wearing those tiny grey shorts she loved so much. The shorts he loved so much, they showed every inch of her shapely legs. No doubt she’d be wearing one of his t-shirts while she stirred whatever concoction she was brewing.

Bellamy smiled as he opened the door and called, “I’m home!”

She came sliding around the corner, and met him at the door as he was kicking off his boots.

“Hey, you,” she said, rising on her toes to kiss him. “How was work?” she asked, far too brightly.

He glared at her lovingly, suspicion clear in his voice, “Good…” Bellamy hung his keys by the door and Wrapped his arms around her, leaning to try and see into the kitchen. “What’s going on in there?” he asked her.

“Uh…” she mumbled into his neck, placing teasing little kisses on his skin. “Dinner?” she replied, grinning at his skeptical face.

“Uh, huh,” he grunted. “Like last Friday when you made meat loaf?” he asked. “Or last month when you tried Taco Tuesday?”

Clarke’s smile turned sheepish and she shrugged at his questions. “I made spaghetti?” she told him.

At those words he relaxed a bit, _I mean, how hard is spaghetti?_ he thought to himself, walking the few steps in the kitchen.

Spaghetti, as it turned out, was just as impossible as meatloaf, tacos, grilled chicken, stuffed shells, and everything else she’d tried to cook.

Bellamy loved her, for everything she was; strong, confident, caring, and a skilled doctor-in-training. She had a passion that matched his own and he loved the explosive fire between them. Clarke was his entire existence, but a world class chef she was not.

Peaking tentatively under the closed lid of the sauce pan, Bellamy wrinkled his nose and pulled her tight against his side. “I love you a lot, Princess, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck,” he said, a teasing light in his brown eyes.

Clarke giggled into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Chinese or pizza?” she asked.


	8. Let's Count the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stydia “Why are you naked in my bed?” [seems so hilarious, I'm gonna go with it] prompted by @lydias-martin/@my_inked_asterism

It was a million! Damn! Degrees! For the seventh day in a row, with no air conditioning. Stiles was on his last bit of already-tenuous sanity with this heat wave. It was impossible to imagine how there was enough liquid left in his body to continue to sweat, but there he was, sitting in a fog of his own body heat.

Stiles somehow managed to gather the strength to leave his apartment and hit the corner store for an enormous bag of ice. It was heaven in cellophane. Antarctica in a sack. He carried it happily to his place, slung over his shoulders, slowly dripping down his spine. Even if he created a flood across his floor it would be worth it to prevent heat stroke.

Kicking his door shut and flinging his flip flops into the corner, Stiles headed to his bathroom to grab a towel for the inevitable puddle on the floor. He started past his bedroom door, stopped, and leaned back to look inside, the bag of ice sliding to the floor.

What he found was a sight to behold, one he had often dreamed of, one for the longest time he had nearly given up on, and yet here she was.

Lydia Martin was splayed across his navy bedspread, creamy skin glistening with sweat, her auburn hair flung across his pillow like liquid flames. She wore nothing except a soft pink lacey bra and matching panties.

Stiles stood in his door way, staring, his jaw on the floor. Lydia was the most enticing thing he had ever seen, and that was when she was wearing one of those amazing dog-face sweaters of hers. This, this abundance of hot, flushed skin was a whole new definition of erotic.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Stiles stuttered, his hands grabbing involuntarily at the empty air, “in fact, you feel free to come by and do this any time the mood hits you, but…” he continued, crossing the room to her. He bent down on his knees at the foot of the bed, reaching with shaking fingers to touch the insides of her ankles. “Why are you naked on my bed?” Stiles asked, his hands sliding slowly up the smooth skin of her calves.

Lydia watched him from under heavy lids, her head tilting back against his pillow at the gentle pressure he placed along the side of her shin. “Mmm,” she hummed, stretching her leg further into his grasp. “It’s too hot for clothes,” she explained, gesturing to her discarded blouse and shorts on the floor beside him. “And, in actuality, I’m not completely naked.”

At that he let out a single, short laugh.

“I’m no more naked than I would be on the beach.” She finished, squirming under his touch on the backs of her thighs. Her body heating for a completely different reason.

Stiles stood over Lydia, leaning his body close to hers, electricity filling the narrow space between them. “And yet, somehow, this is so much sexier than that.”

Stiles kissed his way up her stomach, over her breasts, and to the pulse point at the base of her throat. Every single freckle received a press of his lips or a flick of his tongue. He studied their shapes as he went, finding familiar patterns like new constellations in a foreign sky.

“I love your freckles,” he whispered reverently against her lips, savoring every little second, every movement, it was all like oxygen to him. “They’re like galaxies on your skin.”

“You’ve got some pretty excellent stars yourself,” she replied, touching her favorites on his face with feather-light fingers. Smiling, Lydia wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.


	9. Hey There Juliet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bughead soulmate AU where the first thing your soulmate says to you is tattooed in your wrist. (And they have the most weird phrases) + they meet as teens requested by anonymous

Life was interesting when you were born with words on your skin. Words you didn’t understand, and you didn’t know when they would become important, when your life would be forever changed. But every day of your life those words were there, like a friend you never asked for who kept you company when you were at your loneliest. Someday, you knew, those words would be said aloud to you, and not by someone reading it off your skin. Nor by a friend reading it with an automatic question mark at the end. The way that everybody read everybody else’s, with curiosity and reverence and a dreamy look in their eyes. These words were your destiny, but when would destiny come?

Betty had grown up hearing about all the words that her friends had, Archie’s was simply, “hi”, which made it rather dull after so many people have said this to you in your life. How can you pinpoint the right one when your words are so very common? Other kids in her class had various words, some interesting, others that were rather unfortunate. She’d heard of one that said, “chocolate pudding”, and others like, “can I borrow a pencil”

As far as random words that were to be the very first words your soul mate ever spoke to you, Betty loved hers. They were elegant, poetic, with a little bit of humor. She’d always loved her soulmate mark, the bold elegant lines shaping out the words she waited to hear every day of her life.

_hey there Juliet_

Naturally, around the time she was ten years old she finally found herself a copy of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and devoured every line. For ages, she had heard of the famous play from anyone who saw her mark. She had often assumed it was a direct quote from the work, but discovered this wasn’t the case. Nevertheless, she found her mark to be romantic and awaited the fateful day the words would come to her.

As fate would have it, that day would be a Tuesday in September of her sophomore year at Riverdale High, just after the final bell rang. Betty was jogging down the stairs, her trusty copy of Romeo and Juliet tucked safely in her arms alongside her biology textbook, when someone racing up the steps cut diagonally across the mid-flight landing. He knocked into Betty, spilling her books on the floor.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said reflexively, and bent down to scoop up her things.

The boy had mischievous grey-blue eyes under dark curls tucked inside a beanie with a very distinctive shape. He smiled at her, handing over her Shakespeare, and time seemed to freeze for an instant as they held the world’s most famous love story between them. There they were crouched in the middle of the stairs, bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight, surrounded by their classmates racing up and down the steps.

Betty smiled back at him, not thinking much else of the incident until he spoke.

“Hey there, Juliet,” his voice was like galaxies crashing, her entire universe turned upside, gravity was no more, and she knew nothing but the words that floated in the air between them, shooting light like fireworks.

He smiled at her brightly and tugged the sleeve of his jacket up, exposing fine looped script on his forearm, “oh excuse me”.

Betty’s smiled rivaled the sun at the realization, tilting her head very slightly to one side, she smiled at this boy, trying not to just look, but to see. It was no surprise that what she found was herself looking back, her thoughts staring from his eyes before she even had the chance to think them herself. She saw her future; years of sunsets and crosswords and coffee cups stretched before her. Lazy Sunday mornings making waffles. Sharing their favorite novels with each other, because, after all, if he was her soul mate how could he not love books?


	10. A Little Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bughead “Stop trying to be the hero all the time and just be you.” requested by @dachi-chan25

“Ugh,” Betty stormed into the offices of the Blue and Gold, slamming the door shut behind her, sending the blinds swinging. She stomped to the table and slung her bag down on the surface, “Ugh!!”

“Excellent articulation, no wonder your journalism is top-notch,” Jughead said dryly, spinning in his chair to look at her. “What’s got you all wound up this morning, Nancy Drew?”

Betty looked Jughead dead in the eye, determined to elegantly explain her frustrations in concise language but her blood boiled, her skin itched with rage and all she could do was throw her hands in the air with another exasperated, “ugh!”

Unable to bottle up the chuckle that rose at her flailing arms and flushed face, Jughead motioned for her to come sit beside him. She sat and turned to look at him. “Deep breath,” he coached, taking a deep breath alongside her.

After another three breaths, Betty found her calm and her words. “My mother is trying to tell me I can’t visit Polly. She wants me to just let it all go. She wants me to stop searching for answers! She doesn’t understand, this is important! To Polly, to Riverdale, to me,” she finished, slumping forward a bit under the weight of it all.

“Hey, hey,” he hushed her, taking her hands in his. Jughead stroked his fingers gently across her palms. The movement both soothed her agitation and sent her heart thrumming, blood pumping through her veins. “There’s nothing that can stop you from seeing Polly if that is what you really want. I’ll go back with you, we’ll visit her, and find a way to bring her home,” he reassured her. Jughead looked at her with all the understanding, compassion, and honesty in the universe, and her heart surged once more.

“But I…” she began but he cut off her protest with his lips. Cupping her cheek softly with one hand, he slanted his mouth over hers. It was a gentle, chaste kiss that left her dizzy, her head swimming in a pleasant way.

Jughead sighed, luxuriating in the presence of her. “Stop trying to be the hero all the time,” he touched his forehead to hers, placing a quick kiss on the tip of her nose, “and just be you.”

The tension began to ease from her shoulders and Betty smiled up at Jughead, her heart filling with hope and something else, something… more.


	11. Bribery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bughead “You can’t buy my love!” “I got you doughnuts” Pretty please... requested by anonymous

Jughead sat at his laptop in the offices of the Blue and Gold. His fingers flew over the keyboard, typing furiously. The words coming almost faster than he could keep up with. That’s how Jughead was when he was on a roll, slamming his long fingers against the letters, the words flowing out of him of their own accord. He was merely the vessel they came into this word through.

Jughead was oblivious to just about everything as he brought the story in his head to life. The only sensation he felt aside from the flow of language through his fingers tips was a growing strain in his neck and shoulders. Slicing through the last few sentences of the article, Jughead rolled his shoulders back and stretched his arms over his head. The stretch grew, consuming the muscles in his upper body, gaining a momentum of its own, his neck tilting to the side, his bicep knocking his beanie slightly askew. 

A soft giggle from across the room drew his attention and he turned to find Betty sitting on the table opposite him, her fingers covering her growing smile. She dropped her hands, bracing them against the table’s surface, her crossed ankles swinging gently.

“What’s so funny?” Jughead demanded teasingly from his place at the desk.

Betty stood from her place and walked slowly across the room to him. Stopping in front of him she smiled brightly down into his face. Jughead’s breath caught in his lungs, his fingers itched to reach out and grab her by the waist. He wanted nothing more than to drag her into his lap and spend the remainder of the day staring into her eyes.

She reached out with tentative fingers, searching his eyes all the while, asking permission. She knew how attached Jughead was to his beanie, she knew it was the most important possession he had. Betty touched it gently, righting the soft knit cap on his head.

Smiling sweetly at him, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

A single black brow disappeared into his hat at that unnecessary question. “Really, Bets?”

“Good, because you’ll need your strength for what I have planned,” she answered, bouncing back across the room to where she’d left a Pop’s Chock-Lit Shoppe bag sitting on the table.

“Are you trying to bride me to do work, Cooper?” he inquired, crossing the room to investigate what she had in the bag, “You can’t buy my love, you know.”

A rather smug smile lit her face, she knew he might respond this way, and she had the exact rebuttal to prove him wrong. Betty held the bag out teasingly in front of her, and in a sing-song voice she said, “I got you doughnuts.”

Every scrap of sarcasm slipped from his features as a genuine, I-love-me-some-doughnuts smile beamed back at her. “You got me Cooper, what did you have in mind?”


	12. Anton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bughead “Why is there a goat in the hallway?” “Oh, that’s Anton” requested by anonymous.

Betty knocked twice on Archie’s front door. Jughead had invited her over to study for their upcoming biology midterm. She knew that Jughead was the only one home today; Archie was with Mr. Andrews at the office this afternoon, so she was unsurprised to hear his voice shouting for her to come inside.

Opening the door, Betty stepped inside and closed it softly behind her. She had her notes and textbook ready to go, tucked under one arm, and began up the stairs to Archie’s room. She was so glad that Mr. Andrews had invited Juggie to stay with them, though she was still a little bothered by the fact that no one had thought to tell her that Jug was in such trouble. She’d been so focused on Polly and Jason that she hadn’t even noticed he was sleeping at the school. Jughead had made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it yet and that he was very content to stay with Archie until things changed.

Either way, here she was, walking past Archie’s kitchen, headed to his room while he was clear across town. She shrugged her shoulders a bit at the odd sensation that she was being watched. Shaking the feeling off, she began up the stairs when a loud and very unexpected sound came from the hall past the stairs.

“Meeeeh!” came the noise once more, and the distinct sound of a cow bell. Betty shrieked in shock at the sight of a Billy goat tied up in the middle of Archie’s house.

Jughead must have heard her shout, because he came bolting down the stairs, terror in his eyes and a bat in his hands, clearly Jughead had expected something horrible to be happening downstairs. Something much more horrible than the little pellets the goat was depositing on the wooden floor.

Skidding to a halt at the bottom of the steps, Jughead took a mental inventory of Betty, finding that she was fine, he relaxed and smiled at her. “What’s the shouting for?” he asked her.

Betty simply stood there, staring at him incredulously. Her eyes were wide, her hands open before her, fingers clenching, as though she were searching for the words that escaped her. “Juggie?”

At the abbreviated version of his name, he smiled at her, and stepped close, taking up her hand in his, “Yea?”

“Why is there a goat in the hallway?” she asked, her gaze flying from his and over his shoulder to the quadrupedal farm animal.

Jughead glanced back, unconcerned, and smiled crookedly, “Oh, that’s Anton.”

Betty waited, expecting a bit more explanation than that. When he stayed silent, smiling sweetly at her, she prompted, “And Anton is in the house because…?”

Letting out a deep belly laugh he replied, “You know, I’m not really sure, to be honest with you.” Squeezing her hand gently, Jughead began to lead her upstairs, “I think Archie and the other football goons stole him from Greendale. Some kind of rival football team intellectual warfare I suspect.”

Betty glanced back at Anton, who was chewing deliberately on a corner of newspaper, as they jogged up the stairs.


	13. Black Like Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bughead “Hey could you do a prompt where Bughead has to go undercover, because of reasons, and it requires 'full dark no stars' Betty. Jughead is equally scared and turned on at the same time.” Requested by anonymous

Jughead sat waiting in the shadowy corner of Veronica’s pool house, his breathing steady and quiet amid the steamy air of the heated water. His phone was in his hand, thumb at the ready to press record the second Betty lured Trev Brown into the dimly lit room. Jughead was ready to document every second of what Trev had to say.

After Betty had met with him at Pop’s on her not-a-date intelligence gathering mission, she decided he required more intense integration. Jughead had been intrigued the second she’d pulled out the black wig. He thought it was a bit much, but she refused to go through with their plan without it, so he let it slide.

The plan was rather simple; Betty would invite Trev to Veronica’s pool and coax him into a false sense of relaxation, hopefully giving away a bit of useful information about Jason’s behavior before he was murdered that could lead to the truth. While Betty flirted with Trev just enough to get him to talk freely, Jughead would be recording every word from his place in the shadows.

Checking his watch again, Jughead shifted slightly trying to regain the feeling in his pinky toe. Betty was late, later than she should be, and he was starting to worry. Just as he was considering abandoning his hiding place in search of her, the pool house door opened.

Trev came through the door, his back to Jughead. He was staring at Betty, and even though Jug couldn’t see his face, he knew that Trev’s mouth must be hanging open. Which was exactly what his own was doing. Betty was wearing a short-cropped jet black wig and fierce red lipstick. She wore a lacey black top that may have just been a bra, but Jughead was not versed enough in fashion to tell the difference.

The look was stunning, equally frightening and arousing. It stirred a fire in Jughead’s gut that he’d never felt before. It was terrifying and yet he wanted more. His skin tingled and his breaths had become shallow. Mentally shaking himself, Juggie pressed his thumb to the record button and attempted to focus on Trev’s words.

After about an hour of whiskey and flirting from Betty, Trev was well beyond buzzed and seemed to have nothing else of value to share. It seemed that what he had told Betty at Pop’s had been all that he knew. He was useless and this mission was a loss.

_Well, not a complete loss._ Jughead thought to himself, staring at her every movement, the flip of the black wig, the way she looked up from under her lashes, the way she sank her teeth into her lip. The whole sight suddenly made him understand a bit of what Archie had tried to explain to him about girls. He’d never experience it himself, had never had that surging of pubescent hormones. For the longest time, he’d thought he was just that way; uninterested. In truth, it seems he just needed the right girl to catch his interest. It was like she set a fire inside him and was the only one who could keep it alive.

Soon Betty ushered Trev out, sending him home in a taxi. She came back into the pool house, her shoulders a bit slumped. She looked tired, and frustrated that their plan hadn’t produced more useful information. She sighed heavily and Jughead walked over to her, reaching out slowly to take one of her hands.

“A lack of new information was still new information,” he riddled at her. At her confused eyebrow, he explained, “I mean; now we know that this line of questioning is a dead end so we can cross it off and move on to the next. Focus our energy… elsewhere.”

His words came out a little broken and a little gravely. His voice sounded like he’d been chewing glass.

At the sound, Betty’s pupils blew wide, her eyes darkening under the black wig. Jughead stared into the blue depths and reached up to tug the inky hair from her golden head. The raven color was striking on her, no dispute there, but he loved the brightness of her naturally blond hair. It was like sunshine growing from her mind, it glowed with her presence and he missed it when she was away.

Betty’s lips parted ever so slightly and he could feel her intake of breath. Placing his fingers along her jawline, Jughead pressed his lips to hers, kissing her the way he’d longed to all night. His usual journalist-self had held the reins during the interrogation, but now the baser desires that she had awakened in him reared their heads. He breathed deeply of the scent of her and sucked lightly on her bottom lip. Her hands came up to his back, tracing the lines of his spine delicately through his t-shirt.

Jughead pulled away, gasping for air in the heat of the pool house and the haze of this new sensation Betty was ignited within him. He leaned his forehead against hers, her breath just as rapid and ragged as his.

“Damn,” he whispered.

She couldn’t help but giggle at that, the tension in the air getting the best of her. “You like Full-Dark, No-Stars Betty?” she asked.

He grinned like an idiot, closing his eyes a moment to get a hold of himself. “It was terrifying in an insanely hot sort of way,” he replied a little dryly.

“Mmm,” she hummed, leaning into him, “I’ll remember that.”


	14. Adagio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romanorogers: Hey, there! I have a request for you. It's a Romanogers prompt. It goes like this: Steve finds out what Natasha's birthday is and, as a surprise, he buys her a pair of ballet shoes. Basically, it's a fluffy story, but if you want to add a little smut, I won't object to it. :3 requested by @greenfleeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adagio: a succession of slow and graceful movements which may be simple or of the most complex.

It was an odd series of events that led to Steve knowing about her history of ballet before he knew her birthday. On one of their early missions together, sometime before SHIELD was revealed to be HYDRA in disguise, they were hiding out on a recon mission, with lots of time and very little to do.

Natasha and Steve had traded questions with one another for eight hours waiting for their target to finally show. She learned about the 40s and his childhood illnesses, he learned a little about her time in the Red Room. Steve had been delighted to learn that one of the early skills every student mastered was classical ballet. Natasha was explaining the benefits from an assassin’s point of view, but all Steve could picture was a young girl with fiery hair, a fierceness in her eyes, and the grace of a prima ballerina.

He had no doubt in his mind that she had been at the top of her class in ballet as she had been in probably everything else she had every tried in her life. He had learned that fact first hand last week when a late-night training session had gone long and turned into something very different. Steve smiled at the memory, his body responding immediately, straining against his gear.

 _Focus, Rogers_ , he berated himself, refocusing his mind on the mission at hand.

Hours later, on the jet back to New York, Steve couldn’t help but overhear Barton’s teasing words.

“…birthday girl, how old are you going to be this year? 32? 29? 28 again?”

Steve’s ears tuned directly into the conversation, suddenly needing to know exactly when her birthday was and shocked at the realization that he didn’t know it.

“Shut it, Hawkeye, you know that’s just the day I picked,” she joked back.

“Nah, still counts, Nat.” He sat beside her, stretching his legs out in front of him. “We’re doing dinner on Saturday, by the way. Laura decreed it.”

He could see her nod in respond, clearly out-maneuvered by Clint’s wife and three kids. Steve turned back to his report and smiled to himself. This was the first birthday he would celebrate with her and he knew exactly what he was going to give her.

That Saturday afternoon, Steve tapped softly on Natasha’s door, a small red bag hidden behind his back. She answered the door in her around-the-tower tank top and shorts. The exact outfit that sent fire down his spine. Her hair was damp and curling softly, she must have just showered. His mouth went dry, his heart slamming in his chest.

She leaned one curvy hip against the door frame and smiled at him, “Rogers.”

“Steve cleared his throat, “I heard there was something special about this weekend.”

One finely shaped auburn brow rose, her lips tipping up at one corner. “And where did you hear that?” she asked.

“Oh, nowhere important,” he said, dangling the bag from his fingers between them.

Her brows knit together, her lips pursing, just a moment before she smiled and stepped away from the door to let him inside.

She closed the door behind him and turned to the sight of Steve Rogers standing a little awkwardly in her living space. He looked around at her minimalist decorating scheme, and the childish side of her she rarely allowed out got the best of her, “So is that for me? Or are you taunting me with fake presents?”

Smiling brightly, a chuckle escaping his lips, Steve sat on her couch and held the bag out to her.

Natasha grinned excitedly and went to sit by him. The moment she came within a foot of him she felt the heat from his body, the electricity in the air sparking along her nerves. Their encounter two weeks ago flashed hotly across her mind, her insides pooling like liquid fire.

He stared deeply into her eyes, the same memories flashing through his mind. She took the bag from his fingers, careful not to brush his for fear that the entire galaxy would burn. Natasha looked into his eyes a moment longer before turning to look inside the bag.

It was stuffed with black tissue paper, red and black, he really knew what she liked. _Yes, yes he does._

Digging gently through the inky paper her fingers stumbled upon something satiny. Grasping the smooth material with her hand she tugged it from the bag and gasped at what she pulled out.

They were ballet slippers, perfect, new, pink satin ballet slippers. Exactly like the ones she had trained in. She had fallen in love with dance and come to accept her lot in life through the movement she produced in shoes exactly like these. He had remembered what she told him about the Red Room on that recon mission.

Natasha felt the unfamiliar sting of tears at the backs of her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, lacking any other words.

She looked up at him from under heavy lashes, the sentimental gift driving her need for him to a new level. Her eyes dilated and her skin flushed, her chest rising swiftly with her breath. Her eyes sank to his lips of their own accord. Steve licked his lips, and she was undone.

Natasha took his face in her hands and straddled his hips, slamming her mouth onto his. He responded with equal passionate abandon. In moments, they were tearing each other’s clothing to reach skin. They spent the next few hours exploring one another, quick and hard at first, then slower, more deeply, learning scars and freckles.

It was all too soon that Clint knocked on her door, “Hey you two, Laura will kill me if Nat misses her birthday dinner. Cap, you can come along, but we gotta go!”

Steve and Natasha looked at each other, stifling their laughter behind the blankets.


	15. House Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus x Jace “IF YOU USE UP ALL THE HOT WATER AGAIN I WILL BANISH YOU TO THE COUCH FOR A MONTH.” Prompted by @holymaidenhuntress/@morriganspriestess

Starting the shower with a flick of his fingers, a spark of blue fire, Magnus focused on wiping the glitter from his eyes, waiting for the room to fill with steam. After the five minutes, it took him to clear the makeup from his face the room was normally a sauna as steamy as any tropical rain forest. He was irritated to find the water still running like ice from the faucet.

Furrowing his brows, he glared a moment at the obnoxiously frigid shower. After an excessively long day filled with demanding Clave officials, exploding demons, and the acrid smell of left over portal magic, there was nothing he had been looking forward to more than a hot shower.

Which, as he stood with his fingers getting frost bite in the water, was clearly _not_ going to happen. The worst part was he knew there had been hot water, nothing was wrong with a thing in his penthouse except for one rather bothersome house guest.

“Squatter’s more like it,” he grumbled to himself as he wrapped himself in a silk robe.

Magnus strut into his main room and snapped his fingers, blue sparks flying across the house. A muffled cry came from the other room followed by a disgruntled shirtless Jace stumbling through the door. Magnus had sent his magic in, grabbed the arrogant Shadowhunter by his ear and dragged him forcibly from his bed. He stood there, clean as a whistle, relaxed and free of the demon ichor that had drenched him not long ago.

“So help me, Jace Morgenstern, if you use up all the hot water again,” Magnus spoke quietly, close to Jace’s face, spraying fresh blue sparks at him, “I will banish you to the couch for a month.”

“Woah, you were going to let me stay a whole month?” Jace smirked at him, “How generous of you.” Jace grinned at him and walked back to the guest room, leaving Magnus glaring at the back of his head.


	16. In The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write a fic where Bellamy sees the puncture wounds on Clarke after season three finale and comments on them or talks to someone else about them - requested by anonymous.

“Clarke, you aren’t acting like someone who just saved the world,” Bellamy said, worry overtaking his features. It seemed to be the constant set of his face. Worried. That was the only thing she saw on anyone’s face anymore, and they were far from done.

“Because we didn’t,” she shook her head. “Not yet,” Clarke said, unable to even speak the words aloud yet. Praimfaya would return. The world would burn once more, unless they could find a way to stop it.

“What do you mean?” he asked his voice desperate, his hand grasping her elbow gently, turning her to face him. “Clarke?”

She sighed heavily, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, “ALIE. She showed me something: nuclear reactors. They’re breaking down all over the world. We have six months until the death wave hits us,” she explained, her voice a hollow, empty sound in her own ears.

The information hit him like an asteroid, gaping at her, he didn’t even have words. The only thing Bellamy could do was pull Clarke into his arms, shielding her physically from the world. She wrapped her arms around his waist, needing the embrace as much as he. They pulled apart a moment later, both highly aware of the movement and noise of the others around them.

At that moment Octavia lashed out at Pike, her rage and heartbreak over Lincoln’s execution finally having the opportunity to escape its cage. She thrust her blade ferociously into his gut, spearing him like the animal she saw him as. Without another word she left.

Abby was tangled in Kane’s arms, Murphy just stood by Ontari’s lifeless body, chest cavity spread wide like a grave. He was staring down at the black blood dripping from his fingers. Bellamy knew that this day’s events would remain with John.

Clarke squeezed his hand briefly and stepped away to check on the others in the room returning from ALIE’s clutches. Bellamy considered going after Octavia, but was too worried about Clarke after what had happened to let her out of his sight. He hovered nearby, trying to be useful.

It was when she stepped through a door quietly that he out right followed her. Clarke stood in what he assumed had been Lexa’s room. The space was large and filled with soft furs, tall candles, and even a large mirror hung against one wall.

She stood before the mirror, her hair pulled back into a quick braid. It reminded him suddenly of when they first came to the ground. She’d worn her hair braided that first day, pulled back from her face. Clean and fresh in the new phenomenon of sunlight.

Now it was heavily layered with smaller braids, lengths of bead, and a few lasting strips of red. A little bit of Wanheda still colored his Clarke.

At the thought, he chastised himself harshly. _Your Clarke? She’s not your anything!_ He started to turn away before she caught him, but the sight of blood when she turned into the light stayed his retreat.

She leaned into the mirror, examining two puncture wounds just below her clavicle. They were ugly, angry looking holes, large chunks of flesh had been ripped apart and she stood silently tending to the wounds, alone.

Bellamy’s heart wrenched, his chest tightening around the breath he’d been holding. Stepping forward silently, he whispered, “Clarke, what happened?”

She looked up and caught his gaze in the mirror. Fresh tears filled her eyes and she looked away, hurt and what looked like shame in her eyes. He took her by the shoulders and turner her to him. He inspected the wounds closely, they were deep but not so deep they’d hit bone. They were also filthy.

“Clarke,” he whispered. Bellamy set out cleaning the injured flesh, gently wiping away the dirt and dried blood until the skin was clean and pink. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

That look filled her face again, pain and something else, something ugly. “My mother. When she was under ALIE’s control. Torture is not outside of an A.I.’s wheel house,” she explained, trying to lighten the tone, “just so you know.”

Bellamy wrapped his strong arms around her, longing to heal her every wound with his touch. “I’m so sorry, Clarke,” he whispered near her ear. His breath drifting through the wispy hairs at the back of her neck.

Clarke let go. With him, she could. She let the shields down, let her weakness out and collapsed against his solid chest. Tears overflowed her eyes, wetting the shoulder of his t-shirt. She sobbed, for the lives that had been lost, for the damage that had been done, for the battle that still lay before them. Maybe, if they were extremely lucky, and fought every single day, they could keep the human race alive.

In his arms, she felt safe, protected, supported. She didn’t feel so utterly alone, like the entire world’s weight rested on her shoulders. Bellamy was her rock and even now he stood like a stone pillar, braced against the gravity of the universe beside her.

Together: that was the only way they would make it through.


	17. Sparring Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linctavia requested by Taviablake

Sweat ran in rivers down her neck and chest. She ducked and easily avoided his right hook. Octavia pivoted on her toes. Escaping his reach, she squatted, swinging her right boot out, forcibly knocking Lincoln’s feet out from underneath him. With a crashing thud, he hit the metallic floor of the training room. She punctuated her victory with a dagger at his throat and a knee to his ribs.

Loving brown eyes glared up at her cocky smile.

“What?” she asked, laughter bubbling from her lips.

“You fight dirty,” he explained, pressing off the floor.

Octavia gave not an inch, forcing Lincoln into her space, which he did so eagerly. Settling herself astride his hips, Octavia looped her fingers into the collar of his shirt. A chill ran up Lincoln’s spine, and he buried his long fingers in the dark mass of hair at the nape of her neck.

Octavia met his kiss passionately. Despite the excursion from their hours-long sparring match, new energy rushed through their veins.

Lincoln broke from Octavia’s lips with a gasp, sucking oxygen into his suffocated brain cells. “I think that’s enough training for today,” he murmured, his voice low and gravely in her ear, his fingers trailing down her back.

She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck as he stood, lifting her against him. Lincoln carried her out the back door and only then did he set her on her feet. As quickly as they could without drawing attention, they strode together to their campsite that was set apart from the other structures popping up within the gates of Arkadia. Octavia tugged lightly on Lincoln’s hand, and they disappeared for a different kind of sparring match.


	18. Kitchen Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secret Santa present for @linctavis on tumblr. Merry Christmas my love, and now I can claim this as my writing :)

_What should I have expected? _Lincoln thought to himself, shaking his head, and waving at the thick smoke billowing out into the living room from the kitchen doorway. He’d only been gone a few hours; how could she make such a catastrophic mess in such a short amount of time?__

__Lincoln rolled his eyes at himself the moment the thought occurred to him. With Octavia, all hell could break loose in a matter of seconds, give her a few thousand and enough motivation and she could burn the world to the ground._ _

__“Love?” he called out cautiously, a little afraid to peak his head inside the smoky kitchen, “I’m home.”_ _

__He was greeted with the piercing sound of the smoke alarm blaring into life, followed quickly by Octavia’s frustrated screech and an urgent flapping sound. Stifling his laughter, Lincoln opened the kitchen door slowly and looked inside._ _

__The entire room was a disaster zone worthy of a visit from FEMA. Halsey’s Bad Lands was blasting from the sound system while bits of chopped food and potato peels littered every inch of counter space. The sink was overflowing with measuring cups and blackened pans, and a thick coating of flour dust clung to everything. Octavia stood on a chair frantically flapping a dish towel at the ceiling. There were smudges of flour on her black tank top and a handprint on her butt where she had unconsciously wiped flour from her fingers._ _

__The entire situation was something of epic proportions, and it brought a wide, bright smile to his face, love glowing warmly beneath his ribs. As she tried her damnedest to direct the smoke out the open window, Octavia continued to sing along to the album, shaking her hips side to side with the beat._ _

__“You say that you're no good for me, cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve, and I swear I hate you when you leave, but I like it anyway...”_ _

__He leaned in the doorway, thoroughly enjoying the view of his fiancé’s one-woman show. The alarm finally cut off, most of the smoke having been shooed from the kitchen. Octavia started to air-drum as she hopped off the chair. She turned a circle, her black socks sliding across the tiled floor, and rocked out her air drum solo. After she had slammed the last imaginary symbol and thrown her sticks into the crowd, Lincoln applauded, clapping his large hands together. The sound echoed through their small house, bouncing off the walls alongside his laughter._ _

__Her jaw dropped in embarrassed laughter, Octavia smiled and took a deep bow, sweeping her dish rag out in a flourish. Lincoln pressed his index fingers between his lips and whistled his admiration sharply._ _

__“Did you enjoy that?” she smirked at him, hands on her hips._ _

__The only response he could manage was another fit of boisterous laughter. Lincoln clutched at his sides, gasping for air. She glared at him with equal parts love and irritation in her eyes while he struggled to gain control over himself._ _

__Lincoln took some deep breaths and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, “You know I love how hard you try, Tae,” he began, “but I’d rather you not burn the house to the ground. Especially with you still in it.”_ _

__He strode to Octavia and pulled her tightly against his chest. “It was going so well at first,” she said, “but then the ravioli revolted, the mashed potatoes rebelled, and then the sauce joined in on the coup.” She sighed and pressed her cheek into his shirt and breathed in the smell of him._ _

__“Dirty rebels,” he muttered good-naturedly at the saucepan still sizzling on the stove top. Octavia giggled, her chest vibrating against his._ _

__Octavia pulled back to look up into his dark brown eyes, love filled her veins, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by whatever miracle had brought him into her life. She knew as he stared back at her, his fingers twisting in the end of her ponytail, that he was just as astonished as she by the luck they had to have found one another._ _

__“I love you,” he whispered reverently and leaned forward to press his lips to hers._ _

__“I love you, too,” she said._ _

__Suddenly the fire alarm screeched back into life. Octavia and Lincoln looked at each other again and burst into laughter._ _

__Sighing, Octavia said, “I’ll get the towel.”_ _

__“I’ll order a pizza,” Lincoln chuckled, ducking out of the kitchen and away from her loving glare._ _


End file.
